Backwoods (25 page)

Brooke scrawled a quick note to Leo and slipped out the door. As she walked down the hall, she considered waking up Paul and Ella. She didn’t want to bother them, so she decided against it. There was no way she’d interrupt her mother and Nathan.

She could handle this. She needed to talk to her father anyway. He’d reached a new level of callousness with his latest gift. Those tickets were like a precancelation of their next trip. He was no longer available for vacations with her.

It would serve him right if she let him suffer at the cabin all night. One of her mother’s favorite jokes was to take a picture of Brooke flipping him the bird. She’d pretend to send the image and they’d laugh.

Brooke relished the thought of replying to his text with a middle finger. Or this message: Sorry, Dad. I’m not available to be your daughter anymore. I hired a replacement daughter with some of the money you gave me. She’ll be handling all of our future interactions. Frowny face.

Her mom’s SUV was in the parking lot. Brooke opened the door and climbed behind the wheel. The whole way to the cabin, she alternated between regretting what she’d done with Leo and reliving every moment in graphic detail. No wonder her friends liked sex, if it was that good even a fraction of the time.

She was
definitely
not a lesbian.

When she arrived at the cabin, she parked beside her father’s Bentley. The front door was unlocked. She opened it and stepped inside, glancing around. The living room was dark, but the lights in one of the bedrooms were on.

“Dad?” she called out, walking down the hallway.

Before she reached the light, someone grabbed her from behind and clapped his hand over her mouth.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

B
ROOKE
’
S
SCREAM
WAS
muffled by a sweaty palm.

When her attacker locked his arm around her waist, she kicked out with both legs, trying to knock him off balance. Her head rocked back against his chin. He stumbled and went down to the carpet with her, grunting in pain.

His grip loosened. He lacked either the strength or the determination to hold on to her. His body felt skinny beneath hers, not physically imposing. She could get away from him if she struck now. Before she could elbow him in the gut, he shoved her aside and got up. Even though the hallway was dim, she recognized him.

“Wyatt,” she breathed. “You’re alive.”

A crease formed between his brows, as if he didn’t expect her to be pleased. But she was sincerely happy to see him instead of his father. He grabbed a shotgun from the corner of the hall and slung it over his shoulder, saying nothing. The gesture spoke volumes. As did his attempt to grab her, however halfhearted.

“Where’s my dad?” she asked, swallowing hard.

“He’s in one of the bedrooms.”

“Is he hurt?”

“I thought you didn’t like him.”

Chills traveled along her spine. Maybe Wyatt wasn’t the harmless, homely boy she thought he was. He’d drummed up the nerve to kill his own father. Had he done something terrible to hers?

“I don’t like him,” she said, her voice quaking. “I love him, though. I can’t help it.”

Wyatt seemed to understand this sentiment. His expression softened a little. “He’s bound and gagged, but he’s okay.”

“Can I see him?”

He didn’t answer. “Stand up and walk to the last bedroom.”

She scrambled to her feet, heading toward the open door at the end of the hall.

“Go slow.”

Heart pounding, she approached the lighted room with careful steps. It was one of the guest bedrooms, not the master suite. Her father wasn’t inside.

“Get on the bed,” Wyatt said.

Fear rushed through her blood, making her dizzy. Was he going to rape her? Should she fight now, before it was too late?

“See that notebook? I want you to write for me.”

There was a yellow legal pad and a pen on the corner of the mattress. The items seemed incongruent with a murder plot or sexual assault attempt. She moved forward to pick them up with shaking hands.

Wyatt locked the door behind them and pulled up a chair. He looked pale and exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes. The bones in his face were more prominent than ever, as if he hadn’t eaten in days. She didn’t know how he’d managed to get here. He must have hiked for twenty-four hours without stopping.

His hair was wet and matted. He appeared to have showered and changed clothes. The ribbed undershirt and expensive trousers he was wearing probably belonged to her father. He’d tucked the pants into his own beat-up army boots.

Brooke sat down on the bed and opened the notebook, her pen poised like a receptionist waiting for dictation.

“I need you to write down everything I tell you.”

She studied him for a moment, afraid to ask why he couldn’t do this without her help. “Can you write?”

“I can read and write, but I’m slow. It would take me days to fill up a page.”

She nodded her understanding.

“You write what I say, word for word, and I’ll sign my name when we’re done. Then I’m going to kill someone.”

His casual threat made her flinch. He was planning to kill her—or her father. She gripped the pen tight, trying not to tremble. “Why me?”

“What do you mean?”

“My father can write fast.”

He shifted in his chair, uncomfortable. “You’re easier to talk to. Prettier to look at. You’re also the only one who escaped.”

Her eyes filled with tears. She wanted to beg him not to kill anyone, but she couldn’t form the words. So she stared at the yellow paper and waited. He began in clipped sentences. The things he told her were horrific. He gave detailed accounts of his father abducting and torturing young women. He knew the victims’ names. He remembered their identifying characteristics and what they’d been wearing. There were four, not including her.

The most difficult part for her to write was about the third victim’s capture. This woman had been taken on a hiking trail with her dog. The protective animal had bitten the hell out of his father’s arm. Nash broke its neck, but a nasty infection ensued.

“I could have killed him then,” Wyatt said. “I could have let him die or helped the girl. Instead I nursed him back to health.”

“How old were you?”

“Thirteen.”

Brooke wiped the tears from her eyes and kept writing. Wyatt described the atrocities the victim had endured under his father’s hands. She’d been the most combative captive and suffered the most abuse. A year later, she used a rope to hang herself.

Wyatt had been deeply disturbed by this experience, like any normal human being. He’d found the courage to help the fourth victim escape. His father had hunted her down and shot her. Wyatt had spent three days with her dead body in a stone pit.

Brooke’s handwriting was smeared and shaky. She turned another page, scribbling about the fifth victim—her. They’d used a remote-operated deer call to mimic the sound of a woman screaming by Echo Lake. Wyatt had left a trail of wool threads for her family to follow. She owed him her life.

His voice grew hoarse as he continued. Nash had become furious with Wyatt during the search for Leo and Nathan. He’d turned and pointed his rifle at Wyatt’s chest. Wyatt raised his crossbow and pulled the trigger.

His father missed. Wyatt didn’t.

When they were finished, he signed the paper and handed her a map with four X marks. They were burial sites, she realized.

“Why did you come to this cabin?” she asked.

He returned to his chair and sat down. “When we searched through your backpacks, I saw a note with the address.”

“You memorized it?”

“I’m better with numbers than letters,” he said. Taking the shotgun strap off his shoulder, he held it over his lap. “You can leave the room now.”

Her stomach dropped as she realized who Wyatt was going to kill: himself.

“No,” she said, dismayed. “Don’t do this.”

Over the past few hours, he’d recounted the entire story. There was no indication that Wyatt had ever participated in rape, torture or murder. He’d assisted in the kidnappings against his will and done his best to thwart them. He’d shot his father in self-defense. He’d helped Brooke the only way he could.

At worst, he was a victim. At best, a hero.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said.

He shook his head. “I can’t live with what I’ve done. What I’ve seen.”

“Your father was a monster, not you.”

“I’m a monster, too. I feel worse about killing him than kidnapping you.”

“You saved me.”

“Did you mean it when you said you’d run away with me?”

Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t run away with him, but she had to stop him. How could she stop him? “You need to eat something,” she said, putting the pen and paper aside. “I’ll make you a sandwich and you can sleep for a few hours. I’ll stay right here with you. In the morning, you’ll feel better.”

His eyes watered with emotion. “Go on. Get out.”

“I’m not leaving this room.”

“Please,” he rasped. “I can’t do it in front of you.”

“Then don’t do it. Let’s just talk.”

He tightened his grip on the shotgun. “I’m done talking.”

Brooke stared back at him, overwhelmed with despair. He seemed determined to follow through on his plans. She thought about approaching his chair, but he might be able to raise the barrel to his mouth and pull the trigger before she reached him. She had to find another way to connect with him. To convince him.

“Do you have any family?” she asked, tentative.

“Not anymore.”

“Where would we go, if we ran away?”

His lips twisted with regret. “Forget it.”

“I’ll drive you anywhere you want to go. Mexico, Canada...”

“No. It was a stupid idea. I know you’d never—” He broke off, shaking his head. “I know I’m not fit company.”

“That’s not true. I like you.”

He made a sound of disbelief.

She didn’t like him the same way she liked Leo, of course. She wasn’t sure if Wyatt really liked her that way, either. Maybe she’d become a symbol to him. The girl who’d escaped, when he couldn’t. He might have gotten out of the woods, but he’d never escape the trauma of a horrific childhood. His father had committed atrocities. Wyatt had killed him. That kind of baggage wasn’t easy to leave behind.

“I like you,” she repeated, twisting her hands in her lap.

His gaze grew dull. “You don’t have to lie. Just go.”

“I’m not going.”

“Then you’ll see how ugly I can be.”

She didn’t know what else to say. He wasn’t going to listen to her, anyway. She had to take drastic action.

He cocked the shotgun. “Last chance, pretty girl.”

She bit down on the edge of her fist to smother a cry of distress. Then she got an idea. He was a sixteen-year-old boy with a crush. He thought she was pretty. Maybe she could use that against him. On impulse, she tugged the striped hoodie over her head. When he studied the front of her thin tank top, she felt a surge of hope.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Do you want me?”

“I want to die,” he said in a strangled voice.

Her heart broke for him. He might have given up on himself, but she wasn’t going to give up on him. So she continued the clumsy striptease, removing her tank top and bra. He stared at her naked breasts, his jaw slack. Suicidal or not, he seemed tempted.

It felt strange to expose herself again so soon after her last encounter. Sleeping with Leo had changed the way she felt about her sexuality. His praise had boosted her self-confidence. Before Leo, it wouldn’t have occurred to her that she could distract Wyatt this way. She hadn’t considered her breasts worthy of interest, much less life-saving mechanisms.

She circled her soft nipples with her fingertips until they stiffened. “Would you like to touch me, Wyatt?”

“Yes.”

“Come here.”

He rose from the chair, as if driven by an irresistible force. Although he brought the shotgun with him, he set it at the foot of the bed. Then he sat down next to her. When she brought his hand to her breast, he closed his eyes and shuddered.

He wasn’t handsome, but he was sweet. He’d endured too much in his young life. Assuaging his pain was no hardship. She leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his, pretending he was Leo.

* * *

A
BBY
AWOKE
WITH
a start.

Her cell phone was blinking on the nightstand. Nathan’s arm was draped over her waist, his heavy thigh sandwiched between hers. With another man, she might have felt trapped or smothered. When he pressed his lips to the nape of her neck, she shivered with pleasure. Ignoring her phone, she reached back to thread her fingers through his hair. He lifted his hands to her breasts. His shaft swelled against her buttocks, nudging her sex.

She wanted him like this, from behind. They’d kissed and talked for hours, but they hadn’t made love again. Her body still felt primed for action. He was obviously ready to go. “Nathan,” she murmured, arching her spine.

He slid into her, just an inch. “Fuck.”

“Yes.”

“I should put on a condom.”

He really should, but he didn’t. She shivered with pleasure as he brushed his thumbs over her nipples and kissed her neck. Instead of withdrawing completely, he teased her with the tip of his cock, barely penetrating her.

Then someone pounded on the door of the hotel room. “Dad! Let me in.”

Nathan cursed under his breath, pulling away from her. Abby clutched the sheet to her chest, watching as he rose from the bed and wrapped a towel around his waist. He went to the door and opened it.

Leo shoved his way inside. He looked frantic, and he didn’t have his crutches. “I think something happened to Brooke,” he said in a rush. “She left after midnight and she’s not answering her phone.”

Nathan closed the door behind him, glancing at Abby.

Abby grabbed her phone to read her messages. There was a short text from Brooke at 12:47 a.m., saying she’d borrowed the SUV to check on Ray at the cabin. Abby tried to call her, but she didn’t pick up. Neither did Ray. When she dialed the landline number for the cabin, she got a disconnected signal.

Okay. Now it was time to panic.

“She drove to the cabin,” Leo said. “We have to go there.”

“Give us a minute,” Nathan said, retrieving Abby’s lingerie from the floor.

Leo flushed and went back outside. While she scrambled into her clothes, Nathan tugged on a pair of pants.

“Do you have your car?” she asked.

He nodded, putting on his shirt and shoes. “Lydia brought it.”

Abby gathered her purse and sandals, dialing 911 on their way out. The responding officer didn’t know if a disconnected line was cause for concern, but he said he’d send the next available patrol car.

Nathan drove like a NASCAR racer, passing the few other vehicles on the road. Leo urged him to go faster. Abby wanted to get there alive, so she stayed silent. The idea of Brooke being in danger again was almost inconceivable to her.

When would this nightmare end?

She hoped they were worrying over nothing. Maybe Ray was fine, and Brooke had turned off her phone for some reason. It wasn’t like her to be so irresponsible, however. She was reckless and impulsive, but thoughtful. After she went on risky adventures, she sent dutiful text messages to let Abby know she was okay.

“How are you doing?” Nathan asked Abby. “Hanging in there?”

“By a thread,” she said.

He didn’t tell her everything would be fine, or that he’d protect her and Brooke. They had no control over this situation. It was out of their hands. Abby’s cell phone rang before they reached the cabin. She didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?”

“This is Deputy Clegg with the Monarch Sheriff’s Station.”